“Then go in and get them ready before I report you both to Mr Hasnip. Do you hear?”
“Yes,” I said; “but I’m going to have my riding lesson.”
“Your riding lesson!” he sneered; “you’re always going to have your riding lesson. I never saw such a school as it’s getting to be. It’s shameful! I shall go and ask Mr Hasnip if we boys are to be kept always at work, while you and Tom Mercer are idling about and enjoying yourselves.”
“All right,” said Mercer oracularly, in a whisper to me, as Burr major walked off importantly for a few yards, attended by his satellites, and then stopped, drew out his watch with a flourish, looked at it, and put it back with an air that he intended to be graceful.
“Look here, you, Tom Mercer—do you hear, Jollop? You’re not going to have riding lessons. I give you five minutes to get back to your work, and if you are not there then—you’ll see.”
“All right,” said Mercer again; and then, as Burr major was out of hearing, “Any one would think he was the Doctor. Oh, I should like to—” he continued, grinding his teeth. “Think we could, Frank?”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitatingly; “but when he talks like that, it makes me feel horribly mad, and as if I should like to try.”
“Never mind. Wait a bit; the revolution isn’t ripe yet,” said Mercer darkly. “Wish I’d got a watch like that.”
I was very angry, but my companion’s sudden change from thoughts of revenge to covetousness seemed exceedingly droll.
“What are you laughing at?” he said.